Seven days left on the countdown—and Hillary was pregnant.

Jackson and the children, Aaron and Maya, crowded around her in excitement, giddy with speculation over whether it would be a baby brother or a baby sister.

They didn't bother avoiding Elena's presence.

The joy of becoming a father again lit up Jackson's face—an expression she hadn't seen from him in years, and he made no effort to hide it.

For Hillary, he dismantled Elena's most precious study and turned it into a nursery. At her direction, he claimed the master bedroom as well, carefully choosing furniture until the villa was filled with pieces Hillary approved.

The children pressed their ears to Hillary's belly, stroking it gently like devoted older siblings.

Even more striking—when she vomited from morning sickness, Jackson ignored his usual fastidiousness and caught it with his bare hands. He cooked for her himself, worried about her nutrition. He moved company affairs home just so he could take care of her at any moment.

Elena simply watched in silence.

So this was what it looked like—to be loved, and not to be loved.

In the past, countless nights she had been there for him—washing his clothes, cooking his meals, scrubbing tables, lowering her pride to serve him.

Compared side by side, she realized she had been nothing but a pitiful joke.

At least now, she had finally woken up.

When Jackson went on a business trip, the overweight Aaron lounged on the sofa crunching potato chips, while the sallow, underfed Maya made a face at her with dirty fingers.

Hillary swayed over with a proud hand on her belly.

"Elena, why do I feel like you've changed so much?" she sneered.

"The old you always listened to Jackson and the kids, never defying them in the slightest. And now that I'm pregnant, you don't cry or make a fuss—what's that supposed to mean?"

Elena calmly slid an envelope toward her.

"Hillary, I want a divorce."

"I don't want Jackson anymore. The children are yours as well. All I ask is that you have him sign this."

The pretense dropped from Hillary's face. Shock flickered in her eyes.

"Are you insane? Do you know how coveted the position of Mrs. Sullivan is? How could you bear to give it up?"

Elena held her gaze, her tone steady and cold. "As soon as Jackson signs, I'll keep my word. I'll step aside and leave."

That same afternoon, barely half an hour later, Hillary returned, her neck marked with love bites—and tossed the divorce papers back at her.

"I told him it was just a villa transfer contract. He didn't even look at it before signing," she said smugly.

"Elena, just what game are you playing?"

Elena said nothing. She simply went upstairs to pack her things.

A single small suitcase—that was her entire life now.

The couple's mugs, matching slippers, the children's toys, Jackson's shirts and ties...

She hadn't brought them when she came, so there was no reason to take them when she left.

She boxed them all up and threw them into the garbage truck outside—as if they had never belonged to her world at all.

She shipped her luggage ahead to Ireland.

The countdown was down to the final day.

It was their seventh wedding anniversary.

Jackson had lavishly booked the entire Harbor Bay cruise ship. Crystal chandeliers scattered dazzling light, and a tower of champagne glasses glittered at the center of the banquet hall.

Alone, Elena stood at the railing, gazing at the white sails in the distance.

Her phone chimed, and a message from Giovanni flashed on the screen.

[Everything is ready, Elena. Trust me. I'll keep you safe.]

Jackson and Hillary mingled with guests, the children at their side—none of them was aware of the storm about to break.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion sounded. Half the deck collapsed. Seawater, sharp with the smell of salt and blood, surged up from below.

Panic erupted. Guests screamed and stampeded toward the inner cabins.

Just before the cabin doors shut, Jackson caught sight of a familiar figure on the deck.

Beneath her churned the furious sea, sharks circling with jaws agape. One step forward and there would be no return—only the abyss.

His pupils contracted sharply. He reached out his hand.

"Elena, are you crazy? Come here—!"

She smiled.

Jackson—this time, she wasn't going to listen.

In the blood-red glow of the setting sun, from ten meters above, Elena—dressed in a scarlet gown—leapt.

Her body disappeared into the waves, and nothing remained.